The Gunhilda Memorial Fund
by TheNextFolchart
Summary: The Gunhilda Memorial Fund is a scholarship awarded to one student per year - the one who shows the most ambition, the most dedication, and the most passion about his or her chosen field. And one of our finalists is you, Charlie Weasley.


**The Gunhilda Memorial Fund**

* * *

The loud knock on the headmaster's door was followed by an indignant squawk from Fawkes, who had been fast asleep on his perch.

"Hush," Dumbledore murmured, turning away from his cabinet stocked with silver instruments to stroke the phoenix's ruffled feathers back into place. "We've been expecting him." Fawkes gave the headmaster an affectionate coo and tucked his head back beneath his wing.

Dumbledore pointed his wand at the door and flung it open with a flick of the wrist; a seventeen-year-old Charlie Weasley stood in the doorway, looking terrified. "Do come in, my boy," Dumbledore said, turning back to the cabinet.

Charlie did. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley. Sit down." Dumbledore gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

Charlie sat down and clasped his hands together in his lap. "Am I in some kind of trouble?" he asked.

"No, my dear boy, I only wanted to talk to you." Dumbledore reached deep into the cabinet and pulled out a silver basin full of what looked like white fog. "How has your school year been?"

"Fine." Charlie's back was rigid. "And yours, sir?"

Dumbledore smiled warmly. "No need for such formality, Mr. Weasley. Relax. Please."

Charlie returned the smile with a nervous one of his own and leaned back in his chair.

"Professor Kettleburn tells me you're thinking of pursuing a career that involves working with dragons," Dumbledore said, putting the basin down on the desk.

Charlie's eyes lit up. "Yeah, I love dragons."

"He tells me you want to train them?"

"And study them, too. Dragons are supposed to have a lot of healing qualities, but nobody can study them because they're so dangerous. It's hard to get close."

"Have you ever gotten close?"

"No," Charlie said wistfully. "I wish. I've never even seen once. There's a ranch in Romania where they breed them, I saw an article about it in the Daily Prophet when I was seven and I've wanted to visit ever since."

"Why haven't you ever gone?"

The spark in his eyes was gone just as quickly as it had appeared. Charlie shrugged and looked down at the desk. "It's expensive," he said finally.

"I see." Dumbledore picked up his wand and prodded at the mist swirling in the basin on his desk. "Have you ever heard of the Gunhilda Memorial Fund, Mr. Weasley?"

"No, sir."

"It is a scholarship for Hogwarts students. It is awarded to one student per year - the one who shows the most ambition, the most dedication, and the most passion about his or her chosen field. One of our candidates this year is you, Charlie."

Charlie's head snapped up. "I am?"

Dumbledore smiled. "You're a finalist, actually."

His mouth fell open. "Sir, I - I don't know what to say. Thank you."

"Don't thank me yet," Dumbledore said, but behind his half-moon glasses his eyes were twinkling madly. "There is one final test you must pass."

"Anything." Charlie was grinning like a child. "What kind of test?"

The headmaster tapped the silver basin. "This device is called a Pensieve," he said, pushing it closer to Charlie so he could get a better look. "It is used to collect memories. Don't touch," he added, and Charlie hastily pulled his hand back. "Not yet. Not until you understand the task."

"What is the task?"

"I am going to send you into a memory from one of our former students. I want you to observe. Notice what's happening. Nothing there will be able to harm you, or even acknowledge you, but pay especially close attention to the things that could kill you."

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "But I'll be safe?"

"Perfectly safe." Dumbledore laced his fingers together. "I will ask a few questions when you return, and from there we will determine whether you are the right person for our scholarship." He inclined his head. "Whenever you're ready, Mr. Weasley."

Charlie leaned forward over the Pensieve. "How do I . . . ?" he began, but then the tip of his long nose grazed the swirling mist, and he was falling, falling, falling. . . .

* * *

. . . And he landed with a thud in a cramped grey room filled with cots and bodies that writhed and moaned and shook uncontrollably. Nurses dressed in white bustled between cots, taking temperatures and dabbing at peoples' brows with wet cloths. "Dr. Caius," one of the nurses said, looking at Charlie. "Thank the Lord you've come."

"Me?" Charlie asked, but then a man standing directly behind him began to speak, and Charlie stepped hurriedly out of the way to observe.

"I came as soon as I heard." Dr. Caius shrugged out of his black traveling cloak. "You're certain it's the Sweating Sickness again?"

The nurse nodded. "All the same symptoms as last time, " he said. "It begins very suddenly, with the irrational anxiety. Next come the shivers, then the sweating and the delirium. And after that, they drop dead from exhaustion."

Charlie and Dr. Caius both jumped out of the way as two nurses carried a limp body out of the room. "And you have no idea what's causing it?" Dr. Caius asked.

The nurse shook his head. "None."

A young girl - she couldn't have been more than thirteen - burst into the room. "Father?" she asked, tugging at Dr. Caius' trousers. "Please come back outside, Father."

"What's wrong, Hilda?" Dr. Caius asked.

His daughter glanced up at the nurse. "I'm quite anxious," she said, putting heavy emphasis on the last word. "I need you to comfort me. Please."

"Doctor," the nurse said. "Anxiety is the first symptom. It may be best to have Hilda stay for observation."

"Nonsense." Dr. Caius nodded to his daughter. "I'll be back in a moment," he told the nurse, and together swept out the door with Charlie at their heels.

The air was much cooler outside the room - it was really more of a tent, now that he had a good look at it. "Is it happening again?" Hilda asked, her eyes wide.

Dr. Caius sighed. "It appears to be, yes."

"But I thought you'd cured it. Back in 1528?"

"So did I, Hilda." He looked over his shoulder at the tent before pulling a wand out of his pocket. "Mufflatio," he said, directing the spell at the tent's flapping door. "It's been nearly thirty years. I don't understand how it's happening again."

"What's happening again?" Charlie asked, but they didn't hear him.

"It's become a pandemic," Dr. Caius said, twirling his wand between his fingers. "I've never seen it spread into muggle communities like this."

Hilda pursed her lips. "But the disease should be dead. You killed the dragon."

(Charlie's ears perked up. Dragons?)

"Hush, Hilda, don't let the muggles hear you." Dr. Caius looked over his shoulder again. "They're calling it the English Sweating Sickness."

"Well, I'm calling it what it is: Dragon Pox."

"Hilda."

Hilda threw her arms up in the air. "What does it matter?" she said. "They're all going to die anyway."

"We can save them," Dr. Caius insisted.

"How? You thought killing the nearby dragon would save them, but apparently that's no good."

"I've done more research," Dr. Caius said. "I have a theory."

"What is it?"

"Why don't dragons die of Dragon Pox, Hilda?"

Hilda shrugged.

"Because they're immune?" Charlie suggested.

"Because they're immune," Dr. Caius said. "Something in their blood keeps them healthy. So if we can somehow get ahold of dragon blood - "

"You can make a vaccine and inject the patients," Charlie finished. "Brilliant."

" - we can mix it into some kind of potion, prepare a syringe, and transfer the immunity to the patients."

Hilda raised her eyebrows. "And how do you propose we find dragon's blood?"

Dr. Caius looked over his shoulder at the tent again. "There's a nest," he said. "Not far from here. Three babies. They'll be easier to handle than an adult."

Hilda still looked skeptical. "Why do you need my help then, if it's so easy? You pulled me out of Hogwarts in the middle of the year, there must be some reason this task requires two people."

From the corner of his eye, Charlie saw the tent flap move. "Guys," he said as the nurse approached Dr. Caius. "I don't mean to rush you, but someone's coming."

"Dr. Caius!" the nurse called. "Dr. Caius, we need you inside!"

Dr. Caius closed his eyes and sighed. "No time for that now, I'm afraid," he said, turning to the nurse with an apologetic smile. "Stupefy!"

The muggle swayed on the spot. Charlie lunged to catch him, but he fell right through as if Charlie didn't exist (because he didn't, really, not in this memory) and hit the ground.

"That's going to call some attention," Hilda remarked casually.

Her father didn't say anything, just offered her his arm.

Hilda sighed as she took hold of his arm. "I hate Side-Along Apparation," she mumbled, and Charlie realized what was happening a split-second too late.

"Wait!" he cried just as Dr. Caius and Hilda spun on the spot. They disappeared with a loud crack, and Charlie was alone with the unconscious nurse.

Charlie swore under his breath. "Now what?" he asked, looking at the sky where Dumbledore was hopefully watching.

As if it had been waiting for him to ask, the scene dissolved into fog around him and began to swirl. When everything came back into focus, Charlie was standing at the mouth of a small cave, with Dr. Caius and Hilda just beside him.

"The nest is inside," Dr. Caius way saying to his daughter. "It's too tight for me to fit, that's why I need you. Bring me one of the babies."

Hilda narrowed her eyes. "You aren't going to kill it, are you?"

"No, I only need a bit of its blood."

"Father, what if it - "

"Hurry, Hilda."

Hilda took a deep breath and climbed into the cave. Charlie tried to push in after her, but his broad shoulders didn't quite fit. "Be careful," he warned her, even though he knew she wouldn't hear.

Hilda emerged ten minutes later with a baby dragon clutched in her arms. "He's not exactly harmless," she said sourly, holding up her arm. Half her sleeve was burned away.

Charlie held his breath as he leaned down to admire the baby dragon. It was the size of a house cat, with red skin and a layer of soft scales that hadn't had the chance to harden into armor yet. Its tail was lined with spikes the width of toothpicks. "You're beautiful," he said, trailing his hand down its back - and of course neither of them could feel it, but it was worth a try.

"Good work." Dr. Caius conjured an empty syringe and positioned it near the baby dragon's neck. "Hold it tightly, now, while I take the blood."

He jabbed the needle into the animal's skin. The syringe filled up quickly with greenish liquid, and for a moment everything was fine. Then the baby dragon let out a squawk of pain and began to writhe around in Hilda's arms; she shrieked as it raked its claws down her hands, as it threw back its head and exhaled a jet of fire, as its tail flew up and lodged spikes in her eye -

"Got it!" her father yelled, and Hilda dropped the dragon and pressed her hands against her eye.

Charlie stared in horror at the blood pouring out from between Hilda's fingers.

"Father," she cried. "My eye!"

Charlie already had his wand out. "Reparo!" he said, but the spell passed through her like nothing - because it was nothing, he was nothing, he couldn't help her, he was useless, why had Dumbledore sent him here?

"Observe," he reminded himself, trying to tune out the screams of pain coming from the girl at his side.

"It's all right, Hilda, I can fix it, I can fix it, there's a simple spell, just hold still - "

A giant shadow fell over them.

Charlie didn't even have to look to know what it was.

"The mother," he whispered just as Dr. Caius shouted, "Run!"

Hilda, still with one hands clamped on her eye, grabbed the syringe full of green blood and took off. Dr. Caius made to follow, but the full-sized dragon - and Charlie had never seen anything quite so enormous or terrifying or stunningly beautiful - let a stream of fire escape her throat, and Dr. Caius fell with a scream.

Hilda kept running.

The dragon turned her head very slowly until she was facing Charlie.

"You can't see me," he said, standing his ground "This is a memory. I'm not here. You can't see me."

Her green eyes danced.

"Nothing here can hurt me!"

The dragon opened her mouth and exhaled hard -

* * *

- and Charlie was back in Dumbledore's office, panting and clutching the arms of his chair while the headmaster looked at him over the tops of his half-moon glasses.

"He lived, you know," Dumbledore said, pulling the Pensieve back toward himself. "John Caius. He didn't die in the fire."

"How?" Charlie asked.

"He was quite resilient. He got away, found his daughter, formulated a cure. The muggles were baffled when their Sweating Sickness just disappeared." Dumbledore folded his hands on the desk. "It is time for you to answer some questions for me, I think."

"Sure." Charlie adjusted his position in his chair and tried to act as if his heart weren't pounding. It had seemed so real. . . .

"I asked you to pay attention," Dumbledore said. "And I want to know what you noticed."

"Well. Erm. I saw a nurse. A muggle nurse, in a grey tent with other muggles. They were dying of Dragon Pox, and - "

"I'm afraid that's not quite what I meant, Mr. Weasley."

"Oh." Charlie swallowed. "What did you mean, then?"

"I want to know what you noticed about yourself."

"About myself?" Charlie let out a short laugh. "I'm terrified of dragons."

Dumbledore chuckled. "Do you still want to pursue a career with them, or shall we end the interview here?"

Charlie shook his head. "No, sir, I'm still plenty interested in working with them."

"Even though you've seen the dangers?"

He nodded. "And maybe that's stupid of me. But I don't care. All the worthwhile things involve danger. That Dr. Caius knew about the dangers, and he could have walked away, but he didn't, and he saved people."

Dumbledore smiled. "You certainly are a Gryffindor, aren't you."

"Yes, sir."

The headmaster rose to put away the Pensieve. "The girl in the memory - Gunhilda - was one of our brightest students," he told Charlie. "She came back to Hogwarts after the incident with the dragon. She lost her eye, but she had the dragon blood, and she spent years turning it into a workable cure. I've done a fair bit of research on dragons myself," he added, pulling out a glass bottle filled with a greenish liquid and holding it up to the light. "All my work is built on Hilda's foundation." He put the bottle back. "It is from her memorial fund that your scholarship money will be coming."

Charlie blinked. "My - do you mean you're choosing me?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "The money is to go to someone with ambition, dedication, and passion, and from what you've just told me - and from what I've observed of you over the past seven years, of course - you certainly possess all three." Dumbledore reached deep into the cabinet and pulled out a large coin purse. "Two thousand galleons," he said, dropping the purse into Charlie's hands. "Congratulations."

Charlie stared. "I - I don't know what to say."

Dumbeldore winked. "And if I may make a suggestion: use some of it to take a trip to that dragon ranch in Romania."

Charlie laughed in disbelief. "Thank you, sir. Thank you so much!"

Dumbledore inclined his head. "Now I believe I have kept you quite long enough, Mr. Weasley. Go down for dinner before it's all gone."

"Albus Dumbledore," the portrait of Armando Dippet spoke up when Charlie was gone. "Was that your own money you just handed the boy?"

"What ever are you talking about, Armando?" Dumbledore asked.

"Oh, please." The portrait rolled his eyes. "You know as well as I do there's no such thing as the Gunhilda Memorial Fund. There aren't any scholarship funds at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore smiled very slightly and took out his bottle of dragon blood again.

Dippet scoffed. "Why would you give away so much money to a seventeen-year-old?"

"Because he'll use it well," was all Dumbledore said, and then he set the bottle on his desk, closed the cabinet, and began to stroke the feathers of Fawkes the Phoenix.

* * *

_Quidditch League, Round Three_

_Position: Keeper_

_Word Count: 2,782_

_Prompt: Pandemic - English Sweating Sickness of 1551, which appeared without apparent cause and later disappeared suddenly and without explanation_

_Dr. John Caius was a real doctor who witnessed the English Sweating Sickness and wrote an eyewitness account of the disease._

_Hilda is Gunhilda of Gorsemoor, famous in the Harry Potter world for curing Dragon Pox in the mid-16th century. You may also know her as the One-Eyed Witch statue that guards the secret passage to Hogsmeade._

* * *

_Camp Potter II: Archery - write 2k words or more about a father-child relationship_


End file.
